Washed Out Rainbow

The month of pride, so colourful and joyous,

when there's celebrations applenty and everyone joins us.

People come together through love and music,

it burns so bright it hurts to lose it.

You dance with friends and kiss a stranger,

for four cherished weeks there's almost no danger.

You're colourful and bright, out and proud,

you feel as though you can be yourself among this crowd.

But what about when the rainbow has washed out of all your clothes,

when you're cast back into the shadows?

When the flags are lowered once again

and there are no more shields from the other's distain.

What are you supposed to do

when the world turns it's back on you?

Everybody loves a good celebration,

but not everyone wants to admit affiliation.

Companies remove your flag from their website,

and the magic seems to just disappear overnight.

You know the whole month is ruthlessly capitalised,

but at least that's better than being demonised.

It's almost enough to leave you shaken,

this unwelcome feeling of being forsaken.

You know they all mostly mean well,

but it's not their problem, so no need to dwell.

It's back to the sidelines you go,

hide your pain, they don't want to know.

After all, they have all year to be free,

so why would they worry about little old me?

There's always next year they'll say,

only eleven more months until it feels okay to be gay.

In the mean time it's best to be more palatable,

because being yourself it's no longer fashionable.

So until June you'll hold back and hide,

dilute your soul until next year's Pride.